


Little Lost Saint

by TheBetterAngelsOfOurNature



Series: Patience of a Saint [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: ...Yet., F/M, Friends to Lovers, Funny, I love writing ships!, I'm Bad At Tagging, Long-ass fic, Miscommunication, Never swim with Swan., Nick Valentine is the best companion, No Smut, Plus he's sassy., Romance, Sassy sass bot is sassy., Slow Burn, Some of these events actually happened to me in game, Tagging is magic, Will Have Chapters, feelings are hard, heart of gold - Freeform, plus you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 07:15:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9537530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBetterAngelsOfOurNature/pseuds/TheBetterAngelsOfOurNature
Summary: Elizabeth Saint has lost her husband.She's lost her son.And now, she's lost in Boston.





	1. Chapter 1

[Sanctuary]

 

I took the scalpel and carefully shaved slivers off the new wooden grip. Codsworth buzzed and clanked behind me.

  
“You're very handy, mum!” He clipped at the hedges. “And I should know, ha ha!”

  
I smiled. “Thanks Codsworth. Just making sure I'm ready before I head off to Boston proper.”

  
“And what are you doing now, mum?”

  
I ran my thumb over the freshly-carved surface, feeling the three new numbers notched into the grip. 111. One hundred eleven.

  
“Three ones,” I mumbled. _Adult male. Infant. Adult female._

  
I slipped my newly-advanced pistol into its holster. “If I'm not back in a month, Codsworth, then I'm probably dead.”

  
“Mum...”

  
“And if I'm dead,” I continued as if he hadn't made a sound. “I want you to go ahead and tell Preston Garvey to get on up to Vault 111. If he can dismantle those cryogenic pods and get some stores down there, it'd be a great last-resort spot. Kind of a way to make sure whatever happened at Quincey doesn't happen again, okay?”

  
“But mum, what about young Shaun?” Codsworth whirred nervously, snipping a hedge nearly in half.

  
“Well, if he's... with Nate, then I'd see them both and be okay.” I buckled on my leather chestpiece. “If he's still alive, then I'll watch over him and make sure he's okay.”  
I looked up at Codworth and smiled. “And I'll watch over you too, okay? Don't worry. Whatever happens, it'll be okay.”

  
    Codsworth didn't have enough of a face to have expressions, but by how he accidentally cut the hedge off at the trunk, he wasn't convinced.

 

 

 

   Codsworth was right. I should have planned my route better. The mutants, Raiders, and rubble messed with my perception of the city, and my knowledge of Boston wasn't as solid as it had been two hundred years ago. Trying to make it to Fenway Park, I ended up stumbling into Scollay Square. Only now, it had a new name: Goodneighbor.

  
“Hold on there.” A bald man stepped in front of me. “First time to Goodneighbor? You're gonna need insurance.”

  
“Unless it's keep-dumb-assholes-away-from-me insurance, I think I'll pass,” I snapped. I didn't like this guy, and it had as much to do with him being bald as it did with his obvious insurance scam. I kept seeing images when I closed my eyes of the bald murderer, with the long scar over his left eye, the voice of gravel and ice.

  
“Now don't be like that. Here's how it's gonna work.” The bald man shifted. “You're gonna turn over everything in them pockets, or accidents is gonna start happenin' to ya.”

  
    I grabbed my pistol when a ghoul in the background said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” The bald man turned towards the ghoul, and I unloaded three bullets into the bald man's back. The brass casings tinked on the ground, and then there was silence.  
I stepped right over the body. My fingers felt icy to me, and I knew on some level that I was shaking, but the ghoul stopped me.

  
“I like it! Walk into a new place, and-”

  
    I tried to walk by him, but again he positioned himself in front of me with a wide grin. My fingers trembled, and for a horrifying moment I thought about just shooting him, too. But something about his eyes stopped me. His face and manner were relaxed, but his graphite eyes were... _like mine._ Fixed. Observant. Calculating. I understood on some deeper level that if I so much as flinched in the wrong way, he'd stab me in the chest and be on his merry way. There was something of a kindred light in this man's eyes. It wasn't just the glimmer of underestimated intelligence. It was relentlessness.

He kept grinning. “Goodneighbor's of the people, for the people, you feel me? Everyone's welcome.”

  
I made as if to move again, but the intensity of his gaze fixed me.

  
“As long as you remember...” His grin widened. “...who's in charge.”

  
    I nodded, keeping my mouth shut, and kept walking. I didn't have time to tangle with hellbent authority figures or paradoxically anarchical governments. There had to be someone in this place. This was Scollay Square. If anyone knew anything about anyone, it was the ruffians of Scollay Square. And Scollay Square was –  
I stopped. A ghoul with a platinum blonde hairdo and leather jacket was pasting up a poster on the Scollay Square theater. Big letters spelled out: The Memory Den. I stared at the doors, my mind flitting through memories like index cards in a recipe box. Curiosity overcame me, my hands seized on the handles, and I threw the door open, entering into the red velvet depths.

 

   Her name was Irma, and she reminded me of my mother. Same slightly down-home accent, same motherly streak just below the surface, covered up with class and sass. Granted, my mother would never have worn a feathered dress. But Irma was a sweetheart, and like my mother, unfortunately indulged me. Irma had wanted to say no. I wasn't the right kind of customer. I didn't really need the Den. They couldn't help me. The desperation took me over, and I played the pity card.

  
“My baby. He's been kidnapped,” I had confessed, “I'd do anything to see him again.”

  
    Irma caved, and Doctor Amari let me use the machine.  
_I wish they hadn't. Oh, I wish they hadn't._

 

“Honey, what you need is a detective.” Irma stood me up on my feet. “I've got a friend; he's the best of the best. He can find anyone. His name is Nick Valentine. His office is in Diamond City. Go talk to him and he'll help you. I hope you find your baby.”

  
    Diamond City. There was that name again. Where was it again? I tried to remember, but my head was throbbing heavily. My mind was racing with thoughts, but I felt smothered, like I had a painless hangover. Accessing memories right then felt like a bad idea. I touched Irma's shoulder, the same way I used to with my mother, a subtle thank you and quiet apology for my weakness. Then I stumbled out into the night

 

.  
    The Hotel Rexford. Ten bottle caps for a bed. I fell onto it like a limp rag doll and passed out. When I came to the next morning, I was subtly disgusted. Why did the whole place smell like mildew and dust? I had really slept on this bed? This disgusting, mold-ridden bed? I stood up and shuddered. The only good news is that I'd been so exhausted that I hadn't dreamed. _A cup of coffee. A cup of coffee. What I wouldn't give for a cup of hot coffee,_ I thought as I walked out of the room.

  
I was so wrapped up in thoughts of espresso that I nearly walked right past him. But he saw me and yelled, “No! It's... it's you!”

  
    I turned around, mind blank. Me? Who could recognize me? I didn't know any of these people. But I was wrong. The shriveled ghoul who gaped at me from a nearby doorframe was very familiar, if only by the voice and yellow trench coat. I had seen him what felt like only days earlier.

  
“Wait... are you... did you work for Vault-Tec?” I took a step towards him.

  
He hissed angrily, “I _am_ Vault-Tec! Twenty years of loyal service, and for what? They turned me away because I wasn't _on the list_!”

  
    The Vault-Tec Representative kept talking, but I just stood there and stared. He was here. He was really here. A tiny hot coal was working its way through my throat and into my chest. _We could have just said no to the Vault,_ I thought, _Nate, we could have said no. We'd probab_ _ly have been dead, but what if? What if we'd survived? Could it be us, shriveled and still eking out an existence? Would Shaun have been a child of the Wasteland?_

  
“But you! You're still perfect! How?”

  
    The Vault-Tec representative's barbed question snapped me back to reality. I explained the best I could about the cryo, about how we'd been frozen against our will. He didn't seem to sympathize with me, but then again, he really had come to the future the hard way. He lamented about his lot in life, about how no settlement wanted a ghoul with two hundred years of Vault-Tec sales experience.

  
I blinked. I knew a settlement that would love a ghoul with two hundred years of Vault-Tec sales experience. Especially if he could grow gourds.

  
“Why don't you go back to Sanctuary Hills?” I encouraged, “I'll visit you there, I promise.”

  
“R...really? You'd do that?” The ghoul's graphite eyes widened. “Okay... Okay! I'll go! I'll meet you there!”

  
    He walked away in a sort of daze, and I was no better off. I'd just come face-to-face with the last person in the world I expected to meet, and he... he was just as lost and confused about the world as I was. I walked out of the Hotel Rexford, fixing that in my head. I had to go back to Sanctuary Hills and visit the Vault-Tec representative. I was the only person he'd met from before the war. For a moment I considered going back north, helping Preston with the Minutemen while I got on my feet again... but no. I didn't have time for that.

  
Worry about Shaun, I reminded myself, Shaun is still out there. Codsworth is still here.

_You're not alone. You have to find Shaun. You promised Nate._

 

_You promised._


	2. Swimming With Swan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad Luck: Accidentally taking a dip with a ten-foot-tall Super Mutant.  
> Good Luck: Running for her life from that Super Mutant leads Eliza to the one person in the Commonwealth that she needs to find.

   Nate used to say I was born under a lucky star. I'd laugh, but we'd both be thinking about my huge four-leaf clover collection and my knack for talking my way out of trouble, and we'd both know he was being serious. Sometimes the luck came in strange ways.

   So, it must've been one of those mysterious lucky circumstances that I accidentally fell into the swan pond... and woke up Swan. The huge green beast burst out of the water, and I screamed and ran.

“Oh heck, oh heck, oh swashbuckling heck!” I dove behind a gazebo, only to be rewarded with a surge of clicks from my Pip-Boy. Radioactive barrels surrounded me.

“Heck,” I said, my eyes locked on the enormous super mutant. All I had was a 10mm and a Molotov cocktail. I was toast. I couldn't outrun this thing; I was all brains and talk! I got one leg over the black fence as a chunk of concrete soared over my head. I was going to die in Boston Common.

 _Boston Common! Wasn't there a subway around here?_ There was no way that monstrosity could make it in there! I sprinted along the black fence and hid in the subway enterance. I crouched, closed my eyes, and waited.

   Four minutes. Eight. Nothing happened. But I wasn't about to look around the corner and see. I crept down to the subway, praying for a break. Just a little break. I knew Diamond City was in Fenway Park, but I couldn't find a straight path there. Maybe the subway was the best way to travel. I doubted it was still operational, but hopefully I'd be able to walk the rails in relative safety. With this in mind, I crept carefully down the still escalator into Park Street Station. I had my pistol out, listening carefully for a feral dog, or worse, a feral ghoul.

   Instead, I heard a normal ghoul, a man, saying, “I'm tellin' ya boys, joining Skinny Malone's crew has got to be the best thing that ever happened to us! Just look at this place.”

   Another voice, human and also male: “I still say Malone's weak. He caught that detective snooping around, and what does he do? Locks him up! Like he ain't got the guts to just...kill him.”

   Detective. The word stopped me, my mind racing. Was it the same detective that Irma had mentioned? Did I even care? I needed a detective, and there was one conveniently locked up. For a moment I considered trying to negotiate with the men, but my instinct told me otherwise.

“Well don't let his new girl catch you sayin' that,” the ghoul voice said, “she'll start swinging that baseball bat at your face 'till there ain't no face left.”

   Through the doorway, I saw a hat brim poke out from a wall. I lifted my pistol, aimed carefully at the hat brim, and pulled the trigger. There was a pop of red, and the man fell.

“What the –!”

    I positioned myself by the door and aimed again. There were two more, both ghouls... and both wearing fedoras? _Really? Two hundred years, and men still think they're gangsters._

“She's here for the detective – ice her!”

   Bullets richocheted off the tile, and I gasped, backing away from them. Rapid fire. They had submachine guns. So maybe they really were gangsters. I turned the corner, and one of them was reloading. It was as simple as before; place the sights on the fedora and squeeze. Another pop of red, and the last goon yelled, “Shit!”

   He made a break for the bathroom, and I gunned him down. I was getting used to the sight of blood stretching its hungry fingers along tile grouts and rough concrete; I didn't know how I felt about that. I bent over their bodies, grabbing clips and ammunition. I thought about picking up the submachine gun, but I couldn't handle the recoil. I did, however, pick up one of the fedoras not yet stained with blood. I ran my thumb across the soft, dusty rim. It felt wrong to wear it, as I'd just established how they made the head an obvious target... I tucked it in my bag nonetheless. My father was a fedora man. This one was for him.

   I made a beeline for the bathrooms to check if there were any more. The bathrooms were empty, but there was something curious about one of the stalls. A broom had been laid against the door. That alone was enough to make me suspicious; the sight of a tension trigger on the door sealed the deal. I stood on my tiptoes and slid out the copper wire that kept it rigged. After disarming the trigger, I opened the door. A grenade bouquet hung in front of me.

“Aw, boys!” I carefully unhooked the grenade, being careful to leave the pin in. “A bouquet, for me? You shouldn't have.”

   I walked back to the main entrance and unlocked a door to a storage area. There was a safe in the floor that was nigh impossible to pick; I broke seven bobby pins before I wrenched it open. It was worth it; lying in the pit was a 10 mm pistol, not as powerful as mine, but with a reflex sight that thrilled me.

“Finally, some precision,” I said, lifting it out and testing the grip in my hand. I would have to switch the sight onto 111 later, but for right now, it was perfect. I left the main entrance and snuck down the stairs, disabling both the bathroom scale and the shoddy cigar box bomb they had duct taped to the wall. It was so pathetic that I nearly laughed.

    It was a good thing I didn't; as I crept down the stairs, I could see a few of them. There had to be seven or eight fedora-wearing gangsters mulling about. I must've walked in on a secret hideout. _Just like the Silver Shroud, hm Nate?_

   The Triggermen had big guns, but not a one could shoot straight, and they didn't have a scrap of armor between them. It was surprisingly easy to sneak around the place and off them one by one. I stopped in front of a huge Vault door marked with 114. My stomach churned. No way was I going in there. I looked at the control panel.

“Everything we do,” I whispered, “we do for our family.”

   I opened the door, my heart pulsing in my ears. The crunch of the door, the sound of the walkway hitting the floor... I forced the memories back. _Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Just don't. Think about anything else._

“Why's that thing so loud?” A man walked in front of my view. “That you, Skinny? Darla?”

   My gun echoed, and he fell dead. Nope. I wasn't Darla.

“What the hell?” A ghoul rounded the corner, carrying a baseball bat. I barely had time to duck. He swung into my back, and I cringed. That was a bruise-maker. I shot three times into his chest, then picked up the baseball bat.

“Bruise-maker,” I said, swinging it around. _Not a bad name._

  I crept through the Vault, exploring it as much as I dared. I was terrified of Vaults, but I was also curious. There were Triggermen everywhere, but somehow I managed. I snuck through a door and into what looked like an atrium. A man was up on a balcony, talking to a window.

“How you doin' in there, Valentine? Feelin' hungry? Want a snack?”

“Keep talkin' meathead,” A more resounding voice retorted, “It'll give Skinny Malone more time to figure out how he's gonna bump you off.”

“Don't give me that, Valentine. You know nothin', you got nothin'.” the man said as I crept along the floor. As long as he was talking, I was safe.

“Oh yeah? I saw him writing your name down in that black book of his. Lousy cheating card shark, I believe were his exact words. Then he struck the name across three times.”

   I'd made it to the top of the stairs. The sound of a reloading gun might've tipped the man at the window off, so I grabbed the handle of Bruise-maker.

“Three strikes?! In the black book? Aw man,” the Triggerman at the window said, “I, I gotta smooth this over fast!”

   I swung right into the back of his head. I must've misjudged my own strength, because his skull ruptured and the bat continued right on going until it bonked on the window. The man fell dead at my feet, and I was left with a bloody bat and a lot of surprise.

“Hey!”

   A pair of glowing ocher eyes pierced through the gloom. I stopped and did a double-take. He was wearing a long, saggy trench coat and a fedora. For a moment, I thought I'd just found another gangster, until he yelled, “I don't know who you are, but we've got three minutes before they realize meat-for-brains isn't coming back! Get this door open!”

   I didn't have time to dwell on his glowing eyes; I ran over and began furiously tapping at the computer.“Oh, right! Of course, yes.”

“He's got the password in his pockets,” the man in the room yelled.

  I didn't need the blinkin' passcode. I spent most of my years as a graduate student fixing computers for my professors; this thing was a mechanical piece of cake. The door opened easily, and I walked inside.

    The white artificial light from the lamp on the desk cast a husky gray over his coat, but caught the metallic gleam of his skeletal, jagged hand... a metal hand. I knew what a synth was; they'd tried to kill me before. But never had I met one that could really talk... or wore clothing. He lit a cigarette, and the scarlet glow lit up his face, exposing every deep crevice and notch.

“Gotta love the irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress scenario,” he said, “Question is, why did our heroine risk life and limb for an old private eye?”

That took me off guard. This synth was Detective Valentine!

“I need you to find someone,” I blurted, “But I don't know where they could be or how long they've... been gone.”

  I wilted. That was nothing. Not a detective in the world could crack that case.

“Well, I've done jobs with less.” The robot took a drag from the cigarette. “Somehow nice and easy never makes it on the menu in my world. I've been stuck down here for weeks; turns out the run-away daughter I was sent to find wasn't kidnapped. She's Skinny Malone's new flame, and she's got a mean streak.”

   For the first time since I'd tumbled out of the ice box, I laughed. It felt strange, which wasn't surprising. I sobered up quickly as I realized... I hadn't laughed in over two hundred years.

“Anyway, you got problems, and I'm happy to help. But we'll talk later. Right now, let's blow this joint.” The detective threw away the cigarette.

   I nodded, and followed him through the Vault. Triggermen got in our way; they didn't last long. I stocked my pockets full of every clean dish I could find. The detective looked at me funny, but he didn't have enough time to judge me as we raced for freedom. There was quite a bit of running, and unfortunately, exercise.

“More stairs?!” The detective exclaimed as he looked up the flight. “Who built this damn Vault, a fitness instructor?”

I grinned and followed. We ended up in front of a door, and he knelt down and began to fiddle with the lock.

“My bet is that Skinny Malone is waiting for us. The name's... ironic, but don't let that fool you. He's dangerous.” The lock clicked open, and the detective stood. “Alright, here we go, and I hear big fat footsteps on the other side. When we go through this door, be ready for anything.”

   I looked at the door nervously, then quickly started pulling on clothing. The detective stared at me until I had pulled on a full black suit over my Vault suit. He gave me a look of incredulity, but I smiled and went through the door. The only way I was going to get out of here alive was by talking my way out. It worked. It was nuts, but it worked. Something must've finally clicked in that Darla girl's head, because she left for home with the slightest provocation. The detective and I ended up running for freedom, finally breaking through an old sewer top to the surface.

“Ah, that Commonwealth sky.” The detective looked at the stars. “I never thought something so naturally ominous could look so inviting.”

I smiled and took off the black suit, folding it carefully into my bag.

“Thanks for the rescue,” the detective said, “Say, how did you know how to find me?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. “I ran into your Vault while running away from a monster that I provoked by swimming in radioactive waters” seemed to be the worst way to make a first impression.

“I was just in the right place at the right time,” I said, “And it seemed like you needed help.”

“I appreciate it, but you know, a good Samaritan in these parts is likely to end up on the wrong side of a loaded gun,” he muttered, “And I should know.”

The detective stood across from me and squared his shoulders. “Now,” he said, “you said something about a missing person. No trace of where they've gone. I want you to come to my office in Diamond City, give me all the details. Besides, I think you've earned a chance to sit down and clear your head.”

I broke into a relieved grin, “Sir, please. Lead the way.”

“Sir?” He blinked. “What's with the formalities?”

I frowned. “Would you prefer I stuck with detective? Usually the ones I meet prefer sir.”

“The ones you meet? How many detectives have you come across?”

“So far, just you. But I used to work with detectives in my old job. I was a lawyer,” I explained to him, seeing his confusion, “A prosecutor. I worked with the Natick Police Department.”

He stared at me. “Uh...”

“Sir, it'll all make sense when I explain it, really, it will. Could we just get moving?”

“Sure, sure...”

I followed the tail of his trench coat into the night, and took a deep breath. _Finally._

_I'm coming, sweetheart. I'm coming, Shaun._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This... actually happened to me. I was lost, and I saw the swan boats... and so I just swam over to see what they were...  
> I mean, positive outcome! I found Nick earlier! 
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you guys are liking this. I'm used to long clinical analysis of my work, so... having something as organic and fun to write as this has been is great. It's really... I feel free. Feels good. <3

**Author's Note:**

> I ought to tell you that this is my first officially published fanfiction. I'm an English major and I really love writing, but fanfiction has always been kind of frowned upon in my department. So what you're looking at is kind of my subversive, defiant cry out against the anti-fanfic professors. Plus, Nick Valentine makes my heart melt and I wanted more than anything to write something about him. If this seems a little... fast-paced, it's because I usually go back and fill in later, so I'll be posting big chunks. Also because Fallout is a fast-paced game and you can bet your Stimpaks that I will stay true to that. 
> 
> I will try to remember to keep descriptions of Eliza to a minimum, so if you want to imagine her as any kind of woman you want, go ahead. Curvy, thin, Asian, black, ginger, blonde, whatever. Imagine her as you if that's what makes you comfortable.


End file.
